


Deviating From The Customary

by goldentoothpicks



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst with a Happy Ending, Epilepsy, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Ryden, Slow Burn, character death(not ryan or brendon)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7279408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldentoothpicks/pseuds/goldentoothpicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The empty wheelchair outside the room. The scent of dead skin on the linoleum floor. The blindingly white lights that illuminated the ICU. The words that ended my life as I knew it. </p><p>(In which Ryan is a stubborn amputee and Brendon is a shy epileptic)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The IV and Your Hospital Bed

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in years, and it's my first ryden one so go easy on me :)
> 
> A/N: The way Ryan handles Brendon's siezure in this chapter is absolutely not the correct procedure and please do not use this as a model of what to do when someone has a siezure. .
> 
> Also: Im trying to the best of my ability to portray these illnesses in an accurate light without romanticizing them; please let me know if anything crosses a line.
> 
> {{The characters portrayed in this story are fictional and I am not assuming anything about the real people that inspire them. This is a work of fiction}}
> 
> My tumblr is teenhearts

I still remember the doctor’s face when he looked from the test results to my anxious face, biting his lip as he chose his words carefully. I remember everything about that day. The empty wheelchair outside the room. The scent of dead skin on the linoleum floor. The blindingly white lights that illuminated the ICU. The words that ended my life as I knew it.

“Your test results came back positive. I am so sorry.”

~~~ 

“All right, now let’s try the treadmill, shall we?” My nurse suggested. She always spoke in an obscenely happy tone, as if she was talking to a four year old. I would be offended if she wasn't so attractive. She led me over to the bulky, old-fashioned treadmill that sat in the corner of the otherwise deserted physical rehabilitation room and smiled widely, gesturing for me to get on. I did, and she turned the dial to four mph. The ancient machine creaked as the belt started turning. My nurse stepped back, clipboard in hand, her shoulder-length blonde hair pulled out of her eyes in a loose ponytail. “Alrighty, Ryan, if it gets to be too much, I can turn it down for you. Remember, we don’t want to push you to exhaustion; the main goal is to improve your control and the strength in your upper leg.” She smiled encouragingly, genuine kindness shining in her eyes.

I grunted noncommittally and walked, slowly at first, then faster as the treadmill picked up speed. The gears and belt squeaked in protest; the machine had certainly seen its better days. The lump of metal seemed to have a harder time moving than I did. I had grown used to the limp in my gait by now, but even the past month hadn’t been long enough for me to get comfortable with the metallic noises my prosthetic leg made every time I lifted or bent it. Don’t get me wrong; having a fake leg is better than being dead, but did it have to be so fucking loud? Not to mention all the creases and parts made it hell to clean, but who am I to complain? I was lucky to make it out of Osteosarcoma’s lethal embrace with my right leg being the only casualty, but it was still cancer. And cancer still sucked royally.

I stumbled once or twice when misjudging the distance between the rubber conveyor belt and my metal appendage, but the ten-minute session was over faster than I had expected. I zoned back in when my nurse’s stopwatch beeped loudly, signaling the end of our harrowing time together. She reached over and shut off the treadmill, much to my relief. I stayed on as it slowed and eventually creaked to a stop.

“Well, you’re really improving!” She announced as she scribbled madly onto her clipboard. “Your motor control is so much better than it was last week. At this rate, you’ll only have to come twice a week by October.”

I sighed internally. October. Another month before these daily therapy sessions would go away and I could get on with my life. These exercises were like two hours a day of grinding a cheese grater against my forehead, and I would be more than pleased when they were obsolete. Lord only knows how far behind I was in my college classes. Poor Spence promised to take notes for me, since we have the exact same schedule. He must be up to his eyebrows in business textbooks by now.

I mumbled a goodbye to my nurse (Jac, I think she said her name was) and walked out of the room after grabbing my black leather jacket from where I’d discarded it in the corner. I slipped it on quickly and walked down the nearly empty hospital corridor, trying to shake off the melancholy that tried to force its way into my emotions. Lots of people hate hospitals. They claim that it’s the endless white walls and smell of cleaning supplies that founds their hatred, but that’s the biggest lie ever. I might be a bit biased since I spent countless days here, visiting my father, but the cleanliness of this place isn’t what bothers people. It’s the stuff that they hide beneath the scent of air fresheners. It’s the stuff that they have to clean up. The undeniable ambiance of death rolling off a hospital in waves is the most putrid thing about them. No place is more miserable than a hospital, and I wanted to get the hell out of it the second I walked in.

I was in such a hurry to leave that I practically leapt into the elevator as soon as the doors opened which caused me to bump into a tall boy already inside it. He glanced at me, startled, his massive brown eyes searching mine. I mumbled an apology and punched the button that led to the underground parking lot, moving back into the far corner of the elevator and crossing my arms.

The brunet’s eyes flickered to my leg, exposed from the black gym shorts I had been wearing. I tensed, expecting to see pity in his eyes like everyone else, but understanding crossed his gaze before he turned back to face the doors.

I raised my eyebrows, intrigued, and raked my hand through my fringed brown hair, which had long since grown back from the chemo treatments I had succumbed to. His reaction was different than I was used to, which was refreshing. Hell, he’d probably seen worse if he was leaving here too. I was just another average cancer patient. Another person whose cells turned against him in a deadly struggle for dominance, his bones being the battlefield.

My thoughts were interrupted when the abhorrently cheerful elevator music ended and the metal doors slid open. I exited after the kid and walked slowly down the slippery walkway to the patients’ parking lot. My cell phone went off in my pocket and I fished it out. Keltie’s name lit up the screen. Sighing loudly, I pressed the answer button, holding the phone a safe distance from my ear.

“What, Kelt—“

“Hey babe!” Keltie’s bell-like voice sounded sweetly in my ear. “How was therapy? Are you doing anything tonight?”

“I’m not sure, actually. I might head over to Spence’s.”

Keltie paused for a moment before replying. “Oh, okay. Have fun!”

“Did you want to do something?” I continued walking as I spoke, pulling my keys from my jacket pocket as I neared my vehicle. “I can tell Spence that I’m busy.”

“No, no, you need to see your friends. You haven’t hung out with him in awhile, right?“ Keltie hummed. “It’ll be good for you.”

My attention deviated from Keltie as the boy walking in front of me stopped suddenly, stiffening and collapsing to the ground. I stared incredously for a moment, unsure of what to do. He didn’t get up, and as the seconds passed I grew more confused and concerned.

“What in the hell—“

“What’s going on?” Keltie asked, blatantly curious.

The boy lying on the hard cement started jerking around violently, his limbs spasming uncontrollably in abrupt movements. His eyes were closed; he’d appear asleep if it wasn’t for his body’s attempt to bash itself to pieces against the cold stone floor. I dropped my phone and ran over as fast as my leg would allow. I knelt next to him and tried to hold him down to keep him from hurting himself.

“Calm down, dude!” I said, shocked. I had no idea what to do, so I held his arms down and positioned his head in my lap, sitting awkwardly with my prosthetic leg bent at a strange angle. I wasn’t sure what a seizure was supposed to look like, but I was damn near positive that’s what was going on. Not like I had any idea what to do in this situation, of course. I pinned his hands down with one hand and ran my other hand through his hair, waiting desperately for it to pass. I glanced around me for someone, anyone, to come assist me. I mentally cursed myself for discarding my phone in such a hurry; I could have called the front desk and had them send someone to take over.

After what felt like a lifetime, the jolts that coursed through his body lessened and eventually stopped. I shifted so I could see his face and brushed his brown hair gently from his eyes, concern shining in my own. His eyelashes fluttered and he slowly opened his eyes, confusion followed by realization dawning in his eyes. He sat up slowly and rested his head in his hands. He glanced over at me and let out an explosive sigh.

“Sorry.” His voice was little more than a whisper and I had to lean in closer to hear the rest. “Did I hurt you?” He looked up, tears threatening to spill over his dark lashes.

I stared at him. “Did you hurt me? What the fuck, man. Are you okay?” How he was worried about someone else, I had no idea.

He wiped blood from his arms onto his dark jeans. On closer inspection I realized his forearms were covered with small cuts and darkening patches that would no doubt form bruises later. “Yea. They happen all the time. No big deal.”

“No big deal? Are you fucking serious? That looked like a pretty big deal to me.” I remarked, raising my eyebrows. I stood, pushing myself up with my arms and one good leg. I reached out and grabbed his hand to pull him up with me. I started walking, dragging him towards the building again so I could drop him off with a doctor.

He stopped walking. “Wait.” He pleaded. “I just got out of there; I really don’t want to go back in. Please.”

I stared at him. “You can’t just act like it didn’t happen.” My words were sharper than my tone.

“I told you, it’s fine.” He stayed where he was, but I didn’t let him go. “I don’t have to go to a hospital every time they happen, okay?” Anger and desperation laced his statement.

“Then why the fuck were you here?” I was beginning to get annoyed by his stubbornness.

He hesitated. “I had a checkup. No big deal.” He scratched his head with his free hand.

I narrowed my eyes, searching his face, and decided to believe him. I let go of his hand and shoved mine into my jacket pocket. “How were you planning on getting home? Can you even drive?”

“I have my license, yea.” He replied. “But I can’t drive for six months after each seizure. It’s some stupid accident prevention bullshit.”

“Why aren’t you just on meds all the time?”

“Because I can’t fucking afford it every second of every day.” He snapped, the light twinge of a blush creeping across his cheeks.

I raised an eyebrow. “Alright, no need to flip shit on me.” I retrieved my phone from where I’d dropped it and swore loudly. The screen was cracked badly, shattered in a weblike fashion from the left corner. Oh well; I was due for a new smartphone anyways. “So, were you going to walk home then?”

“Yea.”

“Come on. I can give you a ride.” I offered, then cursed myself mentally for inviting a random stranger into my car. He could be a murderer for all I knew. I chastised myself immediately for even considering that thought. On second glance, the tall, slightly awkward boy in front of me could no more be a murderer than I could be.

“You can drive?” He asked disbelievingly, his eyes straying unconsciously to my leg.

I shot him an icy glare which caused him to blush deeper and look away guiltily. “Yea. Humans have two legs, you dipshit.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” He trailed off, apologetic.

“No, I know what you meant. Come on.” I led him back to the parking lot where my car was parked. I unlocked the door of my sleek black car and slid into the driver’s seat, putting the key into the ignition. The strange boy threw himself into the passenger seat gracelessly, and I started the engine quickly and shifted into drive. I had to sit awkwardly close to the boy in the passenger seat. Driving with your left leg is slightly strange; it’s easier the closer you get to the center of the car. I pulled out of the parking stall and maneuvered us out of the lot.

“So where do you live?” I asked.

“Aubergine Towers.” He replied, gazing out of the window.

I covered up the look of disgust and surprise that threatened to cross my face. Aubergine was probably the worst apartment complex in the Sirou district. It used to be an old shoe factory, but was converted to apartments nearly fifty years ago, and I doubted that any renovations had been made since then. “Your family lives there?” I inquired. I was trying to clear the unpleasant silence that filled the small car.

“I live alone. Well, with my little brother. I'm his guardian.”

I didn’t disguise my surprise. “What? How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Huh. You don’t really look it.” I mused, glancing over at him. He looked a few years younger; his large eyes and ridiculous bowlcut gave him a youthful appearance. “Do you go to college?”

“I don’t.” He glanced over at me, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Then what do you do?”

He sighed and gave me a look. “What most normal people do that aren’t in school. I work? You know, for money?” He derided me. “And I have a name, you know. It’s Brendon.”

I turned onto the street where Aubergine Towers was and sighed. “Fair enough, Brendon.”

We sat in silence until I pulled up to the front doors of the shabby old building, practically cringing at the sight. He unbuckled his seatbelt and was about to open the door, but stopped, biting his lip. “Thanks. You know, for before.” He said shyly, blushing again. He blushed a lot, I noticed. It was kind of cute.

“No problem.” I clipped.

He paused. “What’s your name?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Ryan Ross.”

“Ryan Ross,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That kind of sounds like a superhero name.”

“Trust me, I’m no superhero.” I paused. “My full name is George Ryan Ross the Third, though.” I had no idea why I was humoring this stranger with my life story. 

“Wait what?” Brendon let out a short, barking laugh. “That’s quite a mouthful.” He looked over at me and smirked. “I’ve forgotten it already.”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” I hissed, annoyed at his teasing, and grabbed his arm. I pulled a black Sharpie from my cupholder and, on an unmarred spot of his arm, I wrote my full name. As an afterthought, I added my phone number underneath it. “Call me if you need anything.” I released him and tossed the marker to the floor of the car dismissively.

“Th—thanks.” He stuttered, proving my point about lacking grace, and left the car, walking quickly to the front doors of the building. He turned back to glance at me from where I sat in the car, still unmoving. Brendon gave a halfhearted wave and disappeared into the building, but not before I spotted the blush that covered his cheeks.

I fought a smile and drove off to my apartment in the Walker District, the strange boy still in my thoughts.


	2. Give me envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan does Brendon a favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally got around to posting the second chapter! It's super late here and I haven't gotten a chance to beta read it yet, so sorry for any mistakes or lack of detail! I should be around to fix it tomorrow night or tuesday. 
> 
> I hope you like it! Kind of dull, i know, but that's what a slow build is!!
> 
> my tumblr is teenhearts

Life went on, and I followed suit. 

Over a week had passed fairly uneventfully. I received no word from Brendon after dropping him off at his run-down apartment, and I couldn’t exactly say that I cared. He was just another stranger, just another unimportant secondary character in the disaster that was my life. Seeing a seizure up close like that stuck with me, sure, but the kid was forgettable. Unimportant. Temporary. 

I went about my regular daily life, which was simple and just about as vanilla as it gets. I wasn’t medically allowed to go back to school for several weeks, which meant plenty of time for mind-numbing boredom and waiting for lyrical inspiration that would never come. Too many days I would sit at the counter in my small apartment kitchen, notebook and pencil in hand, trying to force my words and deepest thoughts out onto the page. I would scour my mind for the slightest spark of inspiration, and then cling to the fleeting thought like a leech as I attempted to manipulate it into something worthwhile. I realized quickly, however, that words cannot be strained. They can be dramatized and shadowed, but stilted lyrics called for artificial meaning, and a lack of depth was not something I was satisfied with. I had given up long ago on writing anything with meaning; it was too exhausting, and too frustrating when I failed each and every time. 

I rose early on Wednesday morning, as per routine, and dragged myself to the foot of my bed. I reached down to where I had discarded my prosthetic leg the night before and slid it into place quickly, waiting for the telltale click that informed me it was secured. The action had quickly become standard procedure every morning. I grimaced as I slid off of the bed and tested it by placing my weight on the limb and doing a few squats. I always make sure to test that it is attached properly. I don’t want to be that dumbass whose leg fell off in public(not that it hasn’t happened before, but I digress). I ignored the uncomfortable feeling of cold metal on the stump that protruded below my kneecap; the metal would warm to my body temperature soon enough. 

Yawning, I crossed the small, plain bedroom to my closet. I scoured the contents, looking for workout clothes that were suitable to wear in public. I settled on a pair of black sweatpants that covered my leg, as well as a plain black T-shirt. Black, my staple color. Couldn’t live without it. I threw the clothes on and dragged a brush through my dark hair as I walked into the kitchen. I grabbed a plain bagel from the kitchen, not bothering to toast it. Breakfast, or food in general, wasn’t really appealing to me, but I had to force myself to eat anyways. I'd never really had an appetite, and I forgot to eat more often than not. I nibbled disinterestedly on the bagel as I shrugged into my leather jacket that I wear damn near every day and checked to make sure that my car keys were in my pocket. 

My appetite was worse than usual, and the food made me feel more sick than anything. I waited until I was outside in the parking lot before throwing it haphazardly into a bush for the wildlife to fight over. I mentally noted that I would regret not eating later, but dismissed the thought almost as soon as it arrived. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it on the way across the lot, taking a deep drag and closing my eyes. Spencer always gave me shit for smoking even though I know the consequences, but he just doesn’t understand. It’s an affordable escape from the constant stress and anxiety of my life, and they really do help me to calm down. I know that they aren’t the healthiest, but who cares? I’d rather die a few years younger from doing something I enjoy than living a long, miserable, colorless life. He should just be glad that it’s not heroin. I quickened my pace and unlocked my car, sliding as far into the driver’s seat as the center console would allow. 

I always loved driving, even before my body betrayed me. It felt so free, so effortless. You could become anyone you wanted when behind the wheel of a car. You could be passive, or defensive, or a massive douchebag. The world is in your hands, baby, and nobody can stop you from doing whatever you want. I could say, do, or act however I wanted and the consequences of that would reflect only on me (well, as long as I didn’t hit anyone). It was an empowering experience. Well, that and the fact that you can scream your brains out at anyone you want without them hearing or thinking you’re a lunatic. 

“Goddamn it, dude!” I growled loudly over the Beatles song blaring on the aux cord. I slammed on the brakes as the idiot in front of me turned abruptly. “Nice blinker, asshole!” I fumed, taking a second to flip him off through my window. It took me a solid 15 minutes and two cigarettes to let the incident go and relax the scowl from my face. So I had road rage. Sue me. 

I made it to the hospital on time, as usual, and was again greeted by my nurse. I began my stretches and politely ignored the small talk that she always tried to get me to engage in. Even though I never gave her more than a nod or a grunt in reply, she never seemed to get the hint that I wasn’t interested in being social. She always just kept asking away. “How are you, Ryan, how was your weekend, Ryan, do you want to saw your ears off, Ryan?” It was endearing, really, but got old after a few minutes of questions that I had neither the interest nor motivation in answering. I sighed quietly and braced myself for two hours of absolute hell. 

~~~

Once the session finally ended, I practically threw myself out the doors in my desperation to get out. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s predesignated workouts that I have no say in choosing. I hate being told what to do, especially when I have my own, more efficient, routine. 

I lit another cigarette as I hurried through the packed parking lot. There were lots of cars there for a Wednesday, I thought to myself. There must’ve been something going on. I finally found my car in the sea of vehicles and clambered inside, banging my leg gracelessly on the steering wheel as I positioned myself. As usual, I pulled onto the highway and drove to the local gym before pulling into a close parking space. I could have taken one of the many vacant handicapped parking spots since I had a pass for it, but I never did. Partially out of habit, I guess, but an underlying sense of pride as well. I was too proud for my own good.

I got out of the car and walked briskly towards the building, locking my car as I neared the entry. Jac absolutely hated how I always came here after two hours of working out already, but I didn’t want to let physical therapy cut away from my usual workout. There was something so peaceful about working out. You could just zone out and listen to music while letting your body exert itself to death and not have to answer to anyone. It was a refreshing change from hospital therapy where a nurse is always breathing down your neck or telling you to do something differently. 

I opened the heavy gym door and strolled in, claiming one of the closer bench presses. I called an employee over to spot me, and I loaded on as much weight as I could. I lifted the weighted bar fifteen times before setting it back behind my head on the holding rack, and then paused for a few minutes before completing another set. I sat up and headed over to where they kept the weight sets and got to work, lifting the barbells over and over in a steady rhythm that allowed me to focus out and daydream for the first time all day. 

I had hardly been working out for a half hour when my phone went off. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the hem of my shirt, revealing my toned stomach to the group of teenage girls blatantly staring at me in the mirror from across the gym. They dissolved into a fit of whispers and blushes and I rolled my eyes before pulling out my phone and answering it hesitantly. 

“What?” I clipped dryly into the mouthpiece. It was a number I didn’t recognize, so if it was a telemarketer I was prepared to give them an earful for interrupting my workout. 

Instead, a nervous voice stammered on the other line. “Uh, is this Ryan? Ryan Ross?”

“Who is this?”

“Brendon Urie.” He responded, barely speaking loud enough for me to understand him. 

“Brendon fucking Urie. This had better be good.” I hissed, more than a little annoyed. Sure, I gave him my number, but that was out of common courtesy, not out of genuine concern or willingness to help. I figured I had seen the last of the awkward kid. 

There was a slight pause before he replied. “Well, I know that I barely know you and you have no idea who I am and for all you know I could be a murderer or something and you probably want nothing to do with me and I know I’m getting totally out of line and everything but this thing came up and I really don’t have any other options and—“

“What. Do. You. Want.” I cut him off mid-tangent.

“Well, I was wondering if you could do me a favor. A big favor.” Brendon’s voice was jumbled with the chatter of others in the background.

“Dude, where are you? I can barely hear you over those people. I didn’t think you were this popular.” I drawled, my tone nearly as uninterested as I was. 

“I’m at work.” Brendon explained, sounding slightly out of breath. “I only have a second to talk before I have to get back. I know that this is weird, and I don’t really know you, but—“

“For christ’s sake, what do you want?” I enunciated every word, mentally begging for him to hang up. 

“Would you be able to pick up my brother Brent from school?” He rushed. 

There it was. Finally. “Why don’t you just do it?” I was genuinely surprised that he wasn’t taking care of it himself. It was his brother, after all, and I was just a random stranger that he’d only met once. 

“I’m still working.”

“Oh? You probably should’ve planned that out better then, huh?” I chided, lifting a barbell with one hand and holding my cell in the other.

“I had it planned out!” Brendon retorted, sounding angry for the first time. “Please? His babysitters were supposed to pick him up but they had to cancel. I don’t know who else to call since everyone else is still in school, and I only thought of you because your stupid name is still stuck on my arm. That sharpie is a bitch to get off, by the way, and I hope you feel bad because every single one of my coworkers brought it up and I had to explain to them that some weird kid from the hospital decided to brand me with his stupid phone number and make me remember him all th—“

“Brendon. Stop talking.” 

“Right, sorry. Anyways, please? I’ll pay you for your trouble.” He begged. 

I let out a long sigh, making damn sure that he could hear it from his line. “I’m not your personal bitch.”

Brendon faltered and took his sweet time to reply. “So it’s a no?” His panic and disappointment were clear from his quiet answer. 

I put the barbell back onto the stand with an explosive sigh. “Fine. What school?”

“Th-thank you so much!” he stammered, sounding more surprised than anything. “Rose elementary. Do you know how to get there?” 

I rolled my eyes. Figured that it was Rose. It was on the opposite side of town from me, and it would take a good 20 minutes to get there, even speeding. “When does he need to be picked up?” I implored while raking my hand through my sweat-dampened hair as I packed up my stuff to leave. I began my exit from the building, nodding curtly at the desk worker who told me to have a good day. 

“Uh. Around 25 minutes?” He speculated. 

That gave me just enough time to get there. I got into my car and started the drive to the elementary school. “What did you say his name was again?”

“Brent.”

I turned onto the ramp that led to the highway. “How am I supposed to know which kid he is? There’s like hundreds at that shitty school and they all look exactly the same.”

Brendon’s nervous laughter sounded in my ear. “He has a bright yellow banana backpack. Kinda hard to miss, even in a crowd.”

I paused. “Whatever. If I get arrested for people thinking I’m trying to kidnap a kid, I’m going to kick your ass, Brendon.” I warned him with enough venom in my tone to get my point across. 

“I don’t know, you seem too bitchy to be a pedophile.” He joked. “He always meets his babysitters under a big oak tree next to the parking lot; just wait there and tell him that I told you you’re watching him tonight. The code word is ‘bubblebump’.”

“You have a code word? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it’s so he doesn’t go home with an actual pedophile, duh!” Brendon scoffed. “So don’t forget the code word, or he’ll run from you like the plague.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you.” I quipped, with no real malice behind it. “Fine.”

He laughed loudly, a pleasant sound. “Whatever, man. So Brent has a spare key for our apartment in his backpack; he should know where it is. Our apartment is 377. It’s on the third floor. Well, obviously it’s on the third floor, isn’t it? That’s usually where rooms in the 300s are, you know. Our building is a bit older than the other ones in the area, but I guess they still followed the rule of having the floors match the hundreds. It’s kind of weird that everyone just unanimously decided that that was how things would go, you know? Don’t you think that it’s kind of—“

“Do you always ramble on and on about stupid shit?” I interrupted. “Genuinely curious.” I mentally cursed as I swerved to avoid a raccoon that scuttled across the road. 

“Yeah, sorry. It’s a bad habit.” He sounded embarrassed.

“Whatever. I’ll pick him up soon, I’m halfway there. Bye.”

“Oh, and Ryan?”

“What?”

“Thanks again. You really saved me.”

“Whatever.”

~~~

Fifteen minutes later, I stood beneath the tall oak tree that Brendon had mentioned. I wrinkled my nose at the state of my shoes; the ground under the tree was slick with mud and my converse were falling victim to the filth. I’d have to clean them thoroughly later.

The school bell rang loud enough for me to hear it from where I was standing. Almost immediately a sea of small, writhing children poured from the front doors, their backpacks slapping lightly against their backs as they raced to the buses parked at the curb. I raked my gaze across the crowd of kids, searching for Brent. I spotted a small dark-haired boy who was running towards the tree and, after spotting the very bright, very loud backpack, determined that it must be him. He ran right up to me and stopped, his bright eyes staring curiously into mine.

“Who are you?” He questioned. His high-pitched voice was filled with excitement. He bounced up and down in place, his ridiculous backpack swinging with his tiny body. “What’s the passwooooooord?” He dragged out the word in an almost comical way. Cute. 

I sighed heavily before putting on my Fake Kid-Friendly Face. I crouched down to look him directly in the eyes. “I’m Ryan. Your big brother Brendon asked me to pick you up for him. I’m taking you home.” I spoke in a voice cheerful enough to give you a fucking cavity. As an afterthought, I added, “and the code word is bubble something. Bubble bump?” 

“Okay!” Brent chimed, and grabbed my hand in his tiny one. I straightened as much as possible while still holding his hand and led him to my car in the parking lot. 

“Are you Brendon’s friend?” He asked as he skipped down the sidewalk. He made a point of jumping on every leaf as we walked past. 

I paused. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“That’s weird.” He noted, looking serious for an elementary schooler. “Beebo doesn’t have any friends except me.”

“Beebo?”

“Beebo is my brother! He says I have to call him Brendon around strangers, though. I don’t know why! He is my beebo!” Brent looked distraught.

I laughed mentally at the ridiculous nickname. “I don’t know what to tell ya, kiddo.”

Brent looked up at me and his gaze lit up once again. “You’re old!” He exclaimed. 

“I’m 20.” 

“So you’re old!”

I sighed. “Not really, but yeah. Older than you.” I walked as fast as I could while still holding Brent’s hand. I wanted to get to my car as soon as possible. My metal leg was starting to get cold with the autumn air and was beginning to freeze my skin where it joins with my flesh. 

“Why is—“

“What grade are you in, Brent?” I cut him off.

“Fourth!” He exclaimed proudly, his backpack slapping his back as he bounced up and down.

“soooo do you have a giiiiirlfriend?” I teased in a singsong voice.

His cheeks turned pink and he shook his head wildly. I gave him a small smile. He looked like his brother when he blushed. 

I let it go and we reached my car. I opened the passenger side door and took the backpack from Brent, setting it between the seats. I looked from him to the seat and realized that I didn’t have a booster seat for him. Shit. _I’m going to kill Brendon._

“Okay.. just wait a second.” I told him, then picked up his backpack again. I set it on the seat and picked him up, sitting him gently on top of it. It made him significantly taller. I knew it might not be very safe, but it was better than nothing. I helped him with his seatbelt and closed his door before sliding smoothly into the driver’s side.

I answered all of his questions patiently as I drove to his house, driving slower than usual. I had the heat cranked to get rid of the uncomfortable cool sensation in my leg. Brent looked pretty entertained with the inside of my car, his small mittened hands pressing the buttons on the touchscreen monitor in the center console. He accidentally changed the station and Britney Spears came on. I reached over to change it back, thinking he wouldn’t like it, but was interrupted by his indignant squeal.

“I like this!” He shrieked, waving his hands up and down maniacally. 

I laughed shortly. “Okay, okay.” I pulled into the parking lot at Aubergine Towers and turned off the car. I got out quickly and slid across the hood to open Brent's door on the other side. I helped him out of the car and carried his backpack for him, my other hand locked tightly in his small fist. He led me to the front doors and I held them open for him. He skipped over to the rusty old elevator that I didn’t trust in the slightest and pushed the ‘up’ button, humming while waiting for the door to open. When it did, he ran inside and pressed the ‘3’ button and giggled as the doors closed. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, swinging his arms as he did so. I wasn’t a fan of children, but Brent was actually pretty cute. He was tolerable, at least. The doors creaked open and I could barely keep up with him as he ran down the hallway to his apartment. He stopped at the aged door with a stained, gold number plastered on it. 377. 

“Key, please!” He demanded, reaching up for his backpack which I still held. I gave it to him, slightly confused, and he unzipped a side pocket, removing a small silver key that looked old enough to be an antique. He held up his backpack for me to take again and turned to the door. He tried to shove the key in upside-down, which was simultaneously cute and testing my patience.

“Here, let me try.” I offered softly, taking the key from him and sliding it in smoothly. I pushed open the door and grimaced from the sight inside. . Behind the door was quite possibly the smallest, ugliest, dirtiest apartment I’d ever seen. Disgust was clear on my face as I followed him down the tight hallway to the small grungy living room littered with clothes and papers. Half-full coffee cups were strewn across every flat surface available. I glanced around and saw how truly small the apartment really was. The only rooms were the living room, a small but functional kitchen, tiny bathroom, and a plain bedroom with one bed in it. The only pictures on the walls were of Brent in various cute outfits, and a few of a middle-aged couple that I didn’t recognize.

Brent was singing some song from Veggie Tales as he grabbed the remote from the couch, turning on the old-fashioned T.V. in the corner. He flipped through the stations until Sesame Street characters were shining on the screen, and he squealed and sat heavily on the couch. He looked over at me expectantly. I sat next to him awkwardly and he scooted closer to my lap than I was comfortable with. He rested his head on my thighs as he watched. I stared at the T.V., hoping Brendon was on his way home.

Over a half an hour had passed and Brent’s breathing had slowed into sleep. He slept with his head still on my lap and his hands wrapped around my leg. I played with his hair as he slept, braiding his long, shaggy locks over and over out of boredom.

Finally the door of the apartment swung open and Brendon walked inside, exhaustion clear as day in his dark brown eyes. He wore a waiter’s apron that read “Teen Hearts Smoothie” proudly in red across the front, along with a red shirt and black dress pants. He threw off the apron and placed it on the counter before walking over to the living room where Brent and I were. His gaze softened when he saw Brent asleep on my lap, with me awkwardly holding his limp body.

“Hey.” He said quietly, trying to smooth down his ruffled hair. “Thank you so much, Ryan. You really saved my life.”

“Whatever, man.” I replied dismissively. As much as I hated to admit it, babysitting Brent wasn’t as bad as I had expected it to be. It at least gave me something to do, rather than sit in my apartment trying to force lyrics from my head for hours on end.

Brendon pulled out his ragged and torn wallet from his back pocket and removed a twenty dollar bill, holding it out to me expectantly. “Here.”

I waved his hand away and stood gently, shifting the sleeping boy away and setting him softly on the couch without waking him.

Brendon still held the money out to me, as if bribing a dog. “Take it. Please. It’s my fault you had to put up with all of this.”

I rolled my eyes. “Use that money to buy cleaning supplies. This place is filthy.” I snagged my leather jacket from where I had tossed it into the corner and slid it on. I walked past Brendon towards the door without looking at him. 

A faint blush crossed Brendon’s cheeks. “Yea, sorry about that. I never have time to clean and..” He trailed off, his blush deepening.

“Whatever. Bye, dude.” I maneuvered through the piles of clothes riddling the shaggy carpet and opened the front door, pausing when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“At least stay for dinner.” Brendon urged. “Please? I really owe you.”

I turned to look him in the eyes, my expression revealing nothing. “No thanks. I’ve got things to do.” I walked out the door and closed it behind me. I pretended not to see the disappointed look that crossed Brendon’s handsome features. I walked down the hall towards the shitty elevator, ignoring the strange fluttering in my chest.


	3. Have some composure, where is your posture?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> helplessness and a date that isn't a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! comments are always appreciated :)  
> the next chapter is going to be really angsty, so sorry if that's not your thing.  
> my tumblr is teenhearts

A few days had passed since the incident with Brendon’s brother, and my life was still going just about as mediocrely as before. Therapy and working out seemed to drag by on Friday; I simply wasn’t in the mood to deal with people. Dealing with strangers never failed to drain me. I’m not antisocial, I just hate people. 

I arrived back at my apartment early in the afternoon and turned on my T.V. to a random channel for background noise, not actually intending to watch it. I reclined, relaxed for the first time all day, on my plush leather couch seated in the corner of the spacious room. I’d removed my leg and set it carefully on the carpet in front of the couch. I watched halfheartedly, taking a second to pull out my cell phone and text Spencer about the classes I hadn’t attended the past week. 

_“What did I all miss?”_

_“Jon got put on academic probation again for blowing up half of the science wing. Other than that, nothing.”_

Well, I couldn’t say that I was really surprised at that. He melted our high school gym’s floor during senior year, after all. That was a nightmare; how he managed to get his hands on that many chemicals was beyond me. Jon was a regular mad scientist. His obsession with chemistry had begun early in high school, when he first tried to extract THC from marijuana. Unsurprisingly, he ended up starting a fire in his parents’ kitchen. Despite the failed attempt, he got hooked on the science of it and has been experimenting ever since. I smirked at the thought and replied, _“Too bad he didn’t blow it all sky-high. Organic Chem sucks”._

I could practically hear Spencer’s laughter. _“When are you coming back?”_

_“Two weeks.”_ I sighed at the thought of all the work I had piled up from the past month. I had tried my best to make a dent in it, but it was hard to do the classwork without knowing any of the material for the lectures. Spence had been nice enough to sneak a webcam into the majority of his lectures for me to watch, but it wasn’t the same as actually being in class. 

Spencer replied almost instantly. _“:( We need to hang out before then.”_

_“Yeah yeah.”_

_( >*v*)> _

_“… What the fuck spence”_ I rolled my eyes. 

_It’s an owl._

_“Never do that again.”_ Spencer, the king of cringey emojis. 

_“( >*.*)> FIIIIINE. Everything’s serious with you lately. Any luck on those lyrics?”_

I sighed. _“Nothing good. It’s writer’s block, that’s all. It should go away eventually”_ I wasn’t sure if I believed the words I typed. I hadn’t been inspired for months, and there was no sign of that changing anytime soon. It was frustrating and embarrassing. I knew that Spence and Jon understood, but I felt like I was failing them. 

We had started a band amongst the three of us way back in middle school, when we got our first instruments for Christmas. We were downright awful for the first few years, but it didn’t matter because we always had a good time together. I wrote lyrics, sang and played guitar, Jon played bass, and Spence was on drums. It was a very casual setup; we never played shows or anything like that. It was just relaxing to jam and create new stuff with them. We had been playing the same few songs for a long time, and we all wanted some fresh material to play around with. The problem was, I couldn’t get out of my own thoughts long enough to write something worthwhile. 

Spencer was optimistic, as always. _“you’ll get back into it soon, don’t worry! There’s no rush.”_

I sighed, a small smile crossing my stern expression, and tossed my phone aside. Spencer had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. He never let me down, and I loved him more than anything. Keltie always teased me, saying I loved him more than her. I always shook my head and laughed, but she was probably right. I loved Keltie, sure, but nothing could match the bond I had with my best friend. I used to get into a lot of fights in high school, and I could always trust Spence to be by my side. He received countless detentions and black eyes for backing me up, but he never complained or acted like defending me was a burden. We actually made a good team; if this college thing doesn’t work out maybe we should try for street fighting.

I turned off the T.V., no longer interested in it, and started up my ps4. Assassin’s Creed 3 was already in the game slot, left there by Jon on his last visit. I didn’t feel like getting up and switching out the disc for a different game, so I just started it up as-is. I made sure to use Jon’s game file, mentally noting to overwrite his data just to fuck with him. I barely paid attention as the story began to unfold. It had been a long time since I’d played, so I’d forgotten the entire story by now. That’s alright; I wasn’t playing for the plot. I just wanted to mindlessly kill some guards and ruin Jon’s file, was that too much to ask? He had it coming anyways, after how he broke my guitar controller for guitar hero. I still have no idea how he managed to do that, but revenge was definitely in order. 

As usual, I only got a few hours in before I was interrupted. God, I hate people. I was forced to pause my game mid-kill when my phone went off again, and I leaned over to grab it from the cushion next to me. Two new messages lit up the screen, one from Jon and the other from the Brendon kid. I opened Jon’s message first and read it. 

_“If you choke a smurf, what color does it turn?”_

It was almost as though annoying me was Jon’s goal in life. He certainly invested more time and effort into it than he did any of his schoolwork. I deleted his text and opened Brendon’s, shaking my head faintly. 

_“(1/2)Hey! This is Brendon again. Sooo Brent hasn’t stopped talking about you since you left, and I was wondering if you wanted to come to a kids’ movie with us? I have off of work this afternoon. I’ll pay for your ticket if you say yes. Pleeease?? :3 He won’t stop whining until he can hang out with you._

_“(2/2)He doesn’t really have any friends his age, you know, and there aren’t really many adults he likes either. For some reason, he took a liking to you, so it would be awesome if you humored me by coming???”_

I racked my brain for an excuse. Not finding one suitable, I opened a new text and replied. 

_“No.”_ I have such a way with words. 

_“Please?”_

_“No. Stop texting me, shithead.”_ I left it at that and unpaused the game, expecting that he was smart enough to leave me alone now. 

As usual, I was unpleasantly surprised when Brendon did otherwise. My phone went off not even 15 minutes later and I swore loudly, taking a second to kill a couple redcoats with my tomahawk before dragging my phone to me once again. Brendon called this time rather than texting. Joy. That only meant an incessant stream of his mindless chatter, something I was really not in the mood for. I hit ‘answer’ and put it on speaker, not stopping my game as I waited for him to say something. “What the fuck do you need, dude? I’m not coming.” I spat out when he didn’t say anything and kept my eyes glued to the T.V. screen. 

The person on the line hesitated before answering. “Brendon says swearing is bad! You shouldn’t swear!” Brent’s high-pitched scolding sounded in my ear, and I groaned loudly. Of fucking course he would use his brother to try and guilt trip me into coming.

“Where’s your brother?” I asked dryly. I was slightly embarrassed for swearing at a little kid. 

“He just went to take a nap. He worked all day! Really hard!” He jabbered. Huh, so maybe Brendon wasn’t the mastermind behind this phone call. Brent’s voice was garbled; he sounded as though he had a mouthful of candy. “He said you’re not coming to watch a movie with us. Why not?” Brent whined. 

“Yea, I’m busy.” I lied and tried to sound apologetic. I snarled a curse word as Connor nearly died. I maneuvered him out of range and killed a few more enemies, half paying attention to the little boy on the phone. I really, really wanted him to hang up. I could only deny a child so many times before it became rude.

“But you have to come!” He squealed. I could tell he was about to throw a tantrum. “You’re my friend, dummy! And I told you not to swear!” 

I didn’t answer for a second, and he took that as a free pass to keep talking. I mentally prayed for an asteroid to fly in my window and put me out of my misery. 

“Pleaaaaase, Ryan? Pretty please with cherries?” he begged. 

I wrinkled my nose. “Why don’t you have one of your younger friends come with you?” I couldn’t believe I was getting into an argument with a child. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

“Becauuuse I want you to come! Brendon wants you to come, too! RIGHT, Beebo? BRENDON!” Brent howled into my ear. I scowled. Didn’t he say Brendon was trying to sleep? I heard Brendon yell something indiscernible back to him, and he spoke again, more smug than before. “See? Now you have to go.” 

I held back a sigh and ran a hand through my unkept hair. His logic was fucked, but I knew he wouldn’t let it go until I said yes, and hanging up on children wasn't really my style. “Fine. Just…fine.” I was fighting a losing battle anyways. Kids these days.

Even on speaker, his voice shattered my eardrums. _Rest in peace, hearing, you will be gravely missed._ “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! RYAN’S COMING, RYAN’S COMING!” He squealed, giggling hysterically. 

“Uh, so what time is the movie?” 

“Dunno that!” He confessed, then shouted for Brendon again. “Beebo! When is the movie?” I heard some commotion as Brendon got up and walked over to the phone. I imagine that he had to wrestle it away from Brent, due to his cry of dismay.

I was a bit too relieved when I heard Brendon’s soft voice over the phone, tired and rough from just waking up. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know he called you.” He apologized, unsure of what to say for probably the first time in his life. 

“It’s fine.” I said shortly. I was still angry at being swayed by a child with missing teeth. 

“So, are you actually willing to go?” He asked shyly.

“Do you want me to?”

“Well, it would get Brent off of my back for a while..” He admitted. 

“Then I’ll go.” As annoying as he was, he worked hard to keep his world together. The least I could do is pipe his brother down for an hour or two. Not to hate on kids or anything, but Brent kind of seemed like a dick. I was still irritated at the fact that he woke Brendon up for pretty much no reason; I can’t imagine what it would be like to live with that all the time. And not just live with him, but to raise him as well. That was a hell of a lot of responsibility for someone Brendon’s age.

Brendon laughed lightly, sounding relieved. “Okay, so the movie starts at 8:30. Should I meet you at the theatre?” 

“I can just pick you two up.” I glanced over at the clock on my flatscreen. It was already quarter to eight. Figures that he would wait until the last minute for stuff like this.

“Your car has two seats.” Brendon pointed out. 

“No shit.” I rolled my eyes. “I have another car. It’s bigger. I can pick you up in that. Have a carseat ready for Brent.” 

Brendon whistled faintly. “How many cars do you have?”

“Just the two.”

“Lucky bastard. Thanks, though. See you then?”

“I’ll be at your place in 20 minutes.” I drawled while ambushing a group of British soldiers in the game. “Make sure you look decent. I’m not going anywhere if you look like you crawled out of a fucking dumpster.” 

Brendon laughed. “Yes, sir.” He teased, and the line went dead. 

I groaned and rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. There went my glorious evening of doing nothing.

***  
After staring at my closet for nearly ten minutes contemplating what to wear, I settled on a pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a black T-shirt advertising my favorite band. I didn’t bother running a brush through my hair as I pulled on my black shoes and jacket. I locked the door to my apartment and hurried down to the parking lot where I kept my other car. 

I still couldn’t comprehend why in the world I had said yes to go to a movie with a guy that I hardly knew. But I’d said I would go, and I wasn’t going to go back on my word. Sighing, I started my car and headed over to his house. I prayed to a god I didn’t believe in that Brendon had cleaned, at least a little, since my last visit. 

Five minutes later, I stood outside of Brendon’s apartment. I knocked on the door, shoving my hands into my pockets as I waited for him to get the door. I stepped forward when it swung open to reveal a disheveled Brendon and overexcited Brent. He grinned when he saw me and I looked away, feigning annoyance. 

“Hey Ryan!” Brent crowed, reaching his arms up at me like he wanted to be picked up. I took the hint and pulled him into my arms, seating him on my shoulders behind me. He dug his grimy hands into my hair and pulled, earning a laugh from Brendon and a hiss of pain from me. I really hate kids.

Brendon signaled for me to come in and I obliged after making sure that Brent’s head wouldn’t hit the top of the door opening. I looked him up and down, noticing his dark blue boxers and bare chest. I had to hand it to him; the guy had a nice body. Not that I was looking, but still. 

“I thought you’d be ready when I came here, dumbass.” I said, sounding more irritated than I was. 

Brendon blushed and rubbed the back of his head nervously. “Yea, well I was getting ready, but. Yea.” He stopped, and I glanced at the newly forming bruises and cuts on his body that I hadn’t noticed before. I glanced at his face, shocked, and stared at the fresh gash on his forehead that was concealed by his dark hair. Dark blood leaked from the wound and matted his hairline, gluing his hair to his forehead. My eyes returned to his, questioning.

Brendon shifted nervously. He looked up at Brent, who was staring at the T.V. from over my head. He was completely checked out of our conversation, which was probably for the best. “I told you I can’t afford to take them all the time.” Brendon whispered, and my gaze immediately softened; I realized what he was talking about right away. _His meds. Shit._

I gently lowered Brent from my shoulders. “Why don’t you go play with your toys? We’ll be ready to go in a minute.” I suggested softly, watching as he nodded and ran into the living room where his legos were strewn across the dirty carpet. I turned back to Brendon and stepped closer to him, grabbing his hand gently. “Come on. Let me clean you up a bit.” Without waiting for him to accept, I pulled him into the small kitchen. I ignored his protests as I grasped him by the waist and lifted him onto the counter easily. “Where do you keep your first aid shit?” I asked. 

“Under the bathroom sink.” Brendon muttered, a mixture of embarrassment and something else shadowing his eyes.

I retrieved the box and carried it back into the kitchen. I felt like throwing up. My heart ached for Brendon. I couldn’t imagine going through something like that, day after day with no end in sight. I’ve had my fair share of bad luck, sure, but I had the money to take care of myself. Brendon had no such luxury, which put another weight on his already fragile existence.

When I was diagnosed, I never had to worry about paying for my treatments. I could afford them easily. I couldn’t imagine being in Brendon’s financial situation. People say money isn’t everything, but have they ever had to choose between food and medicine, like Brendon was forced to? He was constantly put into situations like this, where his lack of medication caused him both physical and psychological harm. And that wasn’t okay with me.

I dropped the box onto the counter next to Brendon and dug around inside it for the things I needed. I drew out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide and several bandages of various sizes. The cut on his forehead appeared to be the worst of his injuries, so I cleaned that first. I brushed his hair back and dabbed at the wound with a medicine-soaked cotton ball, removing a bit of the red stain from his forehead. 

“It’s fine.” Brendon shot out suddenly, shifting away from me with a scowl.

I pulled him closer to me and glared at him. “No, it’s not.” I dried his forehead and opened a bandage, slathering it in Neosporin before applying it to his wound. “How often does this happen?”

He hesitated. “On days I’m not taking meds? A few times daily. It’s usually not this bad though. Sometimes I can tell they’re coming so I know to sit down or get somewhere soft or something. It’s really not a big deal.” 

I paused for a moment, thinking. "How much are these meds?"

"A lot." 

"Yeah, but how much?"

"What's it to you?" Brendon almost snarled, not out of anger but out of self defense. 

"Well, I'm just saying I have plenty of money that I don't know how to spend and-"

"You're not paying for my fucking medication." He nearly shouted.

I raised an eyebrow. I didn't take him for a proud person, but maybe I was mistaken. "Why does it-"

"I'm not a fucking charity case." He muttered, avoiding eye contact. "I barely even know you. I don't want your money and I don't want your pity, so just drop it already." 

I sighed reluctantly. I couldn't help him if he didn't want me to, but I didn't offer out of pity or charity. I offered because I really, truly liked the guy. I could see he was a good person with a good heart. He deserved better than living through shit like this, and if I could provide that for him, I would. "Fine, fine. So it happens what, a few times a day?" I reiterated, trying to change the subject back to the immediate issue at hand. 

He shrugged. "Depends, but yeah. It's alright though, I can still do anything I want to. It doesn't impair me or anything."

I stared back at him, incredulous. He seemed so positive for someone who went through so much on a daily basis. “Does Brent see?” I asked softly, not expecting an answer. 

Another pause. “Sometimes.” His voice broke a little and he glanced away, thinking I didn’t see the tears threatening to spill over his cheeks. He almost looked… ashamed. 

“Whoa, whoa.” I started. “What’s with that face?” I put my cool fingers under his chin and forced him to look into my eyes. “It’s. Not. Your. Fault.” I stressed each word, empathy shining in my brown eyes. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“He shouldn’t have to see me like that.” His voice was barely a whisper; I had to lean forward to catch it. “It’s not good for him. He should be able to have fun and live his life without worrying about if I’m going to have an incident. It’s not fair to him.”

“YOU shouldn’t have to go though it in the first place.” I asserted. “Don’t worry about Brent; he’s fine. You should spend more time thinking about yourself. Put yourself first for once. Be selfish. You deserve it.” I clapped a hand on his shoulder encouragingly. Of course I know how he felt. Months of rehabilitation couldn’t rebuild what was gone. Emotional wounds took much longer to heal. They were carved from the inside out, and my empty words couldn’t make that go away.

“I don’t know.” Brendon muttered, smiling a little. 

“Don’t question it, dude. I know what I’m talking about.” I took his small smile as a victory. I hid a grin of my own as I finished cleaning up his arms. The scratches weren’t as severe as the one on his head, so I just slapped band-aids on and called it quits. I lifted him from the counter and set him on the ground, reaching up to ruffle his hair but drawing away quickly, thinking better of it. I glanced at my watch. We still had around 10 minutes before the movie was supposed to start. “Do you need a second to get ready?”

Brendon looked down at himself and blushed, as if he just realized he’d been half naked this whole time. “Uh. Yeah. Just give me a second, yeah?” He bolted off, presumably to his bedroom, and I went into the living room where Brent was still building a lego tower. 

A few minutes later, Brendon emerged from his room wearing jeans and a light purple hoodie. Brent stood when he saw him walk in. He dropped a handful of legos unceremoniously to the floor before running into Brendon’s arms. Brendon picked him up and carried him to the door, grabbing his wallet and apartment key on his way out. 

“What movie are we going to, Beebo?” Brent asked him as he tugged on his hair. 

Brendon winced and smiled widely. “Despicable Me 2.” I glared at Brendon. Of course he picked the worst possible kids’ movie currently on the planet. I started to contemplate the chances of me spontaneously combusting before we arrived at the theater. It would probably be less painful than whatever trash I would be subjected to watch there. 

Brendon smirked, as though reading my mind, and winked at me before jerking his head away from Brent, who screamed in his ear.“YAY! I like the yellow guys!” He giggled, using the top of Brendon’s head as a makeshift drum set.

I raised my eyebrows. “You mean the minions?” 

“The yellow guys!” 

Brendon turned his head to glance at me. “He calls them the yellow guys.” 

“Yes, Stephen Hawking, I realized that.” I shot back dryly. “Are you excited, Brent?” I directed my attention to the little boy still abusing Brendon’s head. 

He turned to shoot me the biggest, sloppiest grin I had ever seen. “Yep yep! Are you, Ryan? Huh? Are you excited?” He grabbed two tufts of Brendon’s hair and tugged up hard, causing his big brother to yelp indignantly. 

I offered him a small smile. “ecstatic.”

***

After a five minute car ride of Brent rapid-firing questions at me as I drove, I finally pulled up to the parking lot of the cinema and parked in a close stall. Brendon hopped out first and helped his brother out of his car seat that we had installed before leaving his apartment. He set him down on the cement and Brent grabbed one of each of our hands before we walked into the theatre together. 

I reached the ticket counter first and asked the employee for three tickets to the Despicable Me sequel. He handed me the tickets and I paid quickly, shoving the change into my already crammed wallet. I was still praying for my bizarre death that would spare me the torture of sitting through this movie. Oh well; at least Brendon was there. Not going to lie, he was nice to look at. 

Brendon glared at me when I returned. “I told you I’d pay.”

I sighed; the guy could barely afford his rent, let alone movie tickets. “It’s on me tonight.” I steered Brent and Brendon over to the snack bar and bought their food as well, much to Brendon’s distress. 

Brent, on the other hand, couldn’t contain his joy that I let him pick out whatever candy he wanted. He selected an array of candy boxes as well as a small popcorn and a cherry slushie. He gathered all of his bounty into his small arms and thanked me happily, already dying to open the box of Whoppers on the top of his stack. He ignored Brendon’s attempts to ration his candy intake and ran off down the hall to the room where Despicable Me 2 was showing. He disappeared into the darkened room and Brendon ran after him, yelling that the yellow guys would be upset with him. 

I shook my head and bought 2 large popcorns and sodas, one for me and the other for Brendon. I walked into the theatre room after the siblings, the popcorn balanced precariously in my hands. I looked around the room, squinting in the darkness to find them. 

They weren’t that hard to spot. The theatre was nearly empty; the only other occupants were a young couple who were already making out in the back of the theatre. Classy. Brendon had gotten a hold of Brent’s arm and was scolding him for running off on his own. Brent stared at him, a pouty expression on his face, and nodded when he asked if he understood. I walked over to them and shoved a popcorn and soda into a startled Brendon’s arms before stalking past him to sit down and watch the previews. 

Brendon sat heavily next to me, pulling Brent into his lap. “You didn’t have to buy us all that.” 

“Just accept it and get over it, okay?” 

Brendon glanced over at me, and I refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. “Thanks, but don’t do it next time, okay? You really don’t have to. I have some money, even though it’s not a lot, and I fell like shit when other people pay for me okay? Especially you. I don’t want you to think I’m some charity case or something, especially when I invited you here in the first place. If anything, you-” 

I sighed loudly, cutting him off mid-sentence, and resisted the urge to smack him upside the head. “Dude, you’re giving me a headache.” I shot him a glare. “Trust me, I have money to spare. You don’t. So shut your mouth for a second and enjoy the movie.”

Brendon blinked, startled, and smiled after a second. He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Brent’s flailing. 

“Shhhh, the movie’s starting, the movie’s starting!” 

I sunk low in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. I willed myself to tune out the next hour and a half of my life.

“Ah, shit.” Brendon muttered about five minutes in, glaring pointedly at the entrance of the theatre. Two guys, one brunette and the other a sandy-haired blonde, walked into the theatre hand-in-hand. The darker-haired boy saw Brendon and catcalled, sauntering his way over to where we were sitting. I stared blindly at the screen and hoped that they would leave me alone. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, let alone Brendon’s friends.

Brent squirmed his way out of Brendon’s lap and ran over to the light haired boy, whose eyes lit up as he picked him up and whispered in his ear. Brent giggled and hugged him around the neck. 

“Well, didn’t expect to see you here, Brendon.” The darker haired boy said teasingly, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. He noticed the bandages on Brendon’s face and arms and his gaze softened ever so slightly as understanding crossed his handsome features. Clearly everyone was aware of his health condition. His eyes flickered over to me, and for a moment I felt relieved that I was wearing long pants. My leg was out of sight.

Brendon rolled his eyes and glanced over at me. “The cute blonde dude is Patrick, and the asshole with the shit-eating face is Pete.” Patrick blushed and shifted closer to Pete, who put an arm around him. 

Pete raised his eyebrows and his grin widened. God, what a prick. “So is this your boyfriend or something?” He asked as he looked me up and down. “Kind of skinny, isn’t he? Not much to grab onto, if you know what I mean.” He winked and I responded with a furious stare. He was making a pretty awful first impression, and if Brent wasn’t present I would’ve had a few choice words for him. 

“Wha-n-no!” Brendon sputtered, clearly embarrassed. He turned bright red and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Why are YOU here, cock-face?” Brendon spat. His embarrassment had been replaced by annoyance and anger. 

“Me? I’m relaxing. With Pat.” He hugged Patrick tighter and chuckled. “That’s why you go to movies, you know.”

Brendon snorted. “Whatever. Since you’re here, why don’t you slip into something more comfortable? Like a coma.” He blinked his eyes innocently.

Pete’s eyes narrowed. “Cute. Why don’t I—“

He was cut off when the other couple sitting in the back shushed him loudly, threatening to call an usher if he didn’t shut the fuck up. I’m surprised they stopped making out long enough to form a coherent sentence, but I mentally thanked them for saving us from that conversation. Brendon snickered as Pete and Patrick sat down an isle or two in front of us. 

His happiness was, however, short-lived. Barely ten minutes had passed since they arrived and they were already making out passionately in their seats, providing a show for us and the couple in the back row. Hell, you could practically HEAR them kissing. I felt nauseous, and Brendon groaned and sat back further in his seat. He tried to reposition Brent to be a human barricade between him and the boys. Brent allowed this, seemingly unaware of the PDA taking place. He was fully entranced by the movie, which I was thankful for. 

Brendon, unsatisfied with using Brent as a human shield, had begun to use the couple as target practice. He lobbed popcorn kernel after popcorn kernel at them, hitting them most of the time. Pete lifted his hand from Patrick’s back to flip him off but didn’t break away from his kiss. The smug bastard. 

At that point I glanced away, disgusted and weirded out. I didn’t want to witness them having hot public sex right after I met them. Talk about fucking awkward. 

Brent reached his arms behind him, feeling Brendon’s face with his small hands. “They’re in love, aren’t they.” He said softly, more of a statement than an actual question. His attention was no longer on the movie. For someone so young, I was impressed by his calm demeanor over something like this. Most other kids would be weirded out or riddled with secondhand embarrassment. 

Brendon paused, and I answered for him. “Yes. They are.” I replied, barely a whisper. I turned my attention back to the movie. Some of the minions were purple or something and there was an underwater car at some point. The ridiculous plots of childrens’ movies never failed to astound me. I was really hoping the minions would all die and we would be free of it. But hey, Brent seemed to like them. After the commotion with Pete and Patrick, his eyes watched the screen like a hawk. He burst into giggles every time a minion talked, which was actually pretty adorable. But when he laughed, he usually had a huge mouthful of candy and succeeded in spraying it all over every time a sound came out of his mouth. Gross. 

Brendon, on the other hand, wasn’t quite over the PDA issue. 

“What the fuck.. what are they doing? Oh my GOD what are they doing.” Brendon murmured something along those lines every goddamn second. From the look on his face, he was trying to blow Pete's head off. 

I tried to focus on ignoring the movie, but it wasn’t easy with Brendon making disgusted sounds every two seconds. Finally fed up, I grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth, grabbing him by his hair and pulling his face closer so it was inches from mine. His expression turned to one of shock and his face flushed red. It was strangely comical with his cheeks bulging from the popcorn. “Shut the fuck up, holy shit.” I growled, and he blushed deeper. “Let them be and watch the movie.” Brent turned to give me a look that screamed ‘no more swearing or I’ll pull your hair too’. I saluted him jokingly and turned back to Brendon. 

Brendon begrudgingly agreed to leave them alone and turned back to watch the movie. He almost lost his shit again when Pete called over and asked if he wanted to join in. I resisted clocking him over the head with my popcorn bowl.

We both turned back to the movie and watched the rest in silence. It was hard to catch onto the plot since I hadn’t paid attention to the first half, so I just stared at the screen wondering how long until it was over. I watched Brendon out of the corner of my eye; the kid was half asleep in his seat. He propped his head up with his arms and kept his gaze on the screen, his eyes slowly closing until his arm fell and he jerked himself awake. It looked to me as if he hadn’t gotten enough sleep in a long time. Dealing with a job and a kid brother would be enough work already, not to mention having uncontrollable seizures at the drop of a hat.

I had to admit, I saw a lot of myself in Brendon. I used to be the one fighting against a disease (Not like my fight will ever end, but still. Neither will his). I used to be the one saying I was fine. I was the one telling the lies. But he was stronger than I was; I could see that. Instead of retreating inside himself and becoming stoic and self-loathing, his determination kept him strong and alive. I envied him, I realized. His optimism was contagious.

I caught myself staring openly when the lights in the room went up, signaling the end of the film. I glanced away quickly before Brendon saw me staring. I stood, pulling Brent from his brother’s lap and putting him on my shoulders. Brendon’s eyes opened completely and he looked around. He stood from his seat and brushed off the back of his pants before stretching and yawning loudly. 

The mystery couple from behind us left right away, leaving us, Pete, and Patrick alone in the theatre. 

They stood and turned around to face us, a smug grin gracing Pete’s features. He grabbed Patrick’s hand and walked past us, winking as he left. Brendon glared daggers at him, which Pete found all the funnier. Without a word, they exited the theatre and disappeared from sight. 

Brent was still laughing from the movie. “BEEDO BEEDO!” He screamed, impersonating one of the minions. 

I winced softly. He had screamed right in my ear. 

Brendon saw and laughed, rubbing at the bandage on his forehead. “Now you know how I feel.” 

“Think this is bad? Talk to Keltie once and you’ll be qualified for eardrum transplants.” I muttered as i repositioned Brent in my arms. 

“I dunno who that is.” Brendon pointed out.

“Uh. She’s my girlfriend.” I replied, avoiding his eyes. I don’t know why I felt guilty about it, but I did. 

Brendon failed to conceal his shock. “Oh. Didn’t realize you had one.” He muttered, and almost looked disappointed.

“Yeah. She’s great.” I paused, and without thinking I added, “It is nothing serious, though. We’re pretty casual about everything. It’s not an exclusive thing.”

Brendon didn’t reply, and an awkward silence ensued. 

Brent squirmed from my arms and I lowered him to the ground. “Let’s get going.” I suggested, taking one of Brent’s hands as Brendon took the other. I discarded our empty popcorn and soda containers on the way out. We walked out the doors of the theatre to my car, and Brendon helped his younger brother into his car seat. 

“Thanks for coming, by the way.” Brendon said as I drove off. 

I glanced in the rearview mirror to see Brent had already fallen asleep in his car seat. “No problem.”

Brendon glanced over to me. His eyes were fucking gorgeous, and it was easy for me to get lost in them. “You didn’t have to come. But I’m glad you did.” He said, smiling. 

“I wanted to come.” It wasn’t really a lie.

Surprise crossed his expression, followed by delight. “Did you have fun?” 

“Oh, it was better than fucking Disneyworld.” I commented dryly, rolling my eyes. Stupid kid. 

Brendon laughed shortly. “Well, anyways, thanks for putting up with us. I know Brent can be a bit of a handful at times.” He smiled and looked back at him fondly. 

I hid a smile and turned onto the street where his apartment was located. “He’s not too bad. He has a lot of energy.” I glanced over to him. “Almost as much as you,” I teased.

Brendon nodded, agreeing immediately. “You know, he normally doesn’t take too kindly to strangers, especially men. It’s strange that he likes you so much.” His eyes were teasing. “No offense, but you’re not exactly a bundle of happiness all the time.”

I smiled despite myself. “You don’t say.”

“Do you have family or anything? You always seem like such a loner.” Brendon asked, genuinely curious. It wasn’t his fault; he just didn’t have a filter. I should have brushed it off, changed the subject. But I didn’t.

Instead, my hands stiffened on the steering wheel and I narrowed my eyes as unexplained anger clouded my expression. Brendon noticed he had said something wrong and hastily apologized, but I wasn’t listening. I tried to calm down, to not blame him. He didn’t know, he didn’t know. How would he have known not to ask something like that? The unwanted memories swept back like a tsunami; there was nothing I could do to stop it. Grief and helplessness rolled through my emotions in waves, clouding my judgment. It was all I could do to keep my car on the road. I breathed a mental sigh of relief when I pulled up to the front of his building. 

Brendon got out quickly and lifted a sleeping Brent from his seat before stepping away from my car. I refused to look at him, not wanting to see the hurt and confusion in his eyes. He thanked me again and apologized over and over, his voice lowering with every word. I nodded curtly and he shut the door. I sped off the second it closed.

I drove back to my apartment slower than usual, trying to pick up the shattered pieces of my composure. I finally shut off my car in front of my apartment building and sat there in the darkness, a single tear marking a trail down my pale cheek.


	4. A Regular Decorated Emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a tale of cockblocks and rude awakenings
> 
> ((so this chapter is pretty.. intense.. sorry, it was necessary for their development! :( the next few will be very domestic compared to this so no worries guys!))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, it's finally up! So sorry for the wait!  
> Again, all comments are appreciated, thanks so much for reading!  
> my tumblr is teenhearts :)

I knew I should call him. Call and try to explain, however fruitlessly, that it wasn’t his fault. To try and apologize for my lapse in control, for my break in composure that wasn’t even warranted. I should have called and said something, anything, to try and repair the friendship I had crippled before it even had a chance to form. 

But I didn’t. 

I couldn’t. 

Instead, I pretended as though I had never known the strange boy named Brendon Urie. 

I spent the next few days at Keltie’s dorm to try and forget my humiliating breakdown. We watched a lot of movies and had a lot of sex. That's pretty much all we ever did when we hung out, and I honestly can't object to it. 

It was late Saturday afternoon, and neither of us were too motivated to do anything. I was sprawled behind Keltie on the futon. Her head was resting on my arm as we watched the latest Iron Man movie. I played with her hair absentmindedly, running the golden strands through my fingers as my mind wandered. I love Keltie. I really, truly love her. I would do anything to make her happy. But I couldn’t get Brendon out of my head. Those ridiculous puppy eyes were ruining my life. I had no emotional connection to Brendon, none at all actually. So why was I so shaken by that last moment? Why was it haunting me?

“What are you thinking about?” Keltie murmured. “You seem tense.”

I returned my gaze to her tiny T.V. screen and paused before lying smoothly. “I’m fine. Just thinking about therapy tomorrow, that’s all”. 

“Mmm.” She hummed and shifted herself further back so she was pressed up against me. I guess my answer satisfied her, since she didn’t offer further conversation.  


Keltie was a junior in our University, two years above me. She was a dancer, and a damn good one at that. She used to dance in music videos and concerts to help pay her way through college, but she got too caught up with coursework to continue. We met at the tail end of her music video phase, at a shitty concert for a shitty band that I don’t even remember the name of. She was one of the stage performers and was probably the one good thing about that crapshoot of a concert. Jon was infatuated with her performance, the goddamn hipster, and insisted we stay after the show to meet the performers. We did, and now here we are eight months later. Watching a mediocre movie in a 10-by-15 room. Not the picturesque idea of a bombshell romance, but it worked for us. 

Keltie was, admittedly, by my side throughout the entire cancer nightmare. She was the over enthused cheerleader by my bedside, trying to inspire some will to live into my apprehensive body. She annoyed the hell out of me at times, but she kept me going through my darkest moments. Keltie, Jon, and Spence were my three musketeers during those months, as much as I hate to admit it. Yeah, they were insufferably positive at times, but I don’t think I would have survived it all without them. Between their daily visits to my hospital room and their help with my schoolwork, I really owe them. I would have bashed my head in if my only entertainment was the daytime T.V. and the nurse’s lame attempts at flirting. 

The movie ended, and neither of us moved as the credits rolled across the screen. Keltie yawned loudly and stretched, flipping herself over so she was facing me. She studied my somber face and grinned wickedly before grabbing a fistful of my dark hair and pulling me in for a kiss. 

She tasted faintly of popcorn and weed, and I couldn’t get enough. I kissed her back roughly and, for just a moment, Brendon’s dark eyes faded from my mind. Her mouth parted slightly, an invitation, and I slid my tongue against hers as I positioned my body on top of hers. She ran her palms across my back, pulling my shirt off in a single fluid motion. I followed suit and stripped her as well, exposing her lacy black bra. I moved my focus to her neck and began sucking gently, earning a faint sigh from Keltie. She always complained about hickeys but never did anything to prevent them in the moment. I always enjoyed marking her up, if just for the novelty of listening to her bitch about it later. Bitching and dancing; they were her main skills, and damn did she excel at them.

I tugged at her bottom lip with my teeth and sucked, forcing my good leg in between hers. I groaned against her mouth and entangled my hands in her hair to pull her closer. I was half hard already, my breathing ragged and pupils blown, as I rocked my hips slightly against Keltie’s. 

My jeans were halfway off when my phone rang. 

I let out an explosive sigh and rolled off of Keltie, reaching for my phone that had slid to the ground in all of the commotion. I scowled as I looked at the screen for a caller ID, but my stomach dropped once I recognized it. 

Brendon Urie. 

I hit _ignore_ and threw my phone back to the ground before climbing back onto the futon and brushing my lips against Keltie’s, trying desperately to push the thoughts of Brendon from my mind. Why was he calling? It had to have been about the car ride, right? Oh god, was he mad? I was so not ready to get an earful from him.

“Who was it?” Keltie breathed out in between kisses. Her eyes locked with mine, curiosity temporarily flickering in her gaze.

“Nobody.” I went back to work on her neck, moving my hand down to her waistline and unbuttoning her jeans. Her breathing hitched as I slid my hand into her panties and—

I almost screamed in frustration as my phone rang, yet again. I gave Keltie an apologetic peck on the lips and slid off awkwardly, clanging my prosthetic loudly on the coffee table. I grabbed my phone from the floor. _Brendon again._ The mood was officially nuked, and Keltie was pulling her shirt back on, so I hit _answer_ and held my breath. 

“What is it, Brendon?” My tone was less than friendly, partially because of the cockblock but also out of anxiety; I hadn’t spoken with him since my freak out, and I had no idea how he would handle that now. 

“Ryan?” The voice was not Brendon’s, it was too shrill and panicked. “Ryan, is that you?” 

I stood shocked for a moment before replying. “…Brent? What are you doing with Brendon’s phone?” 

His young voice was almost incoherent. “It happened again, Ryan, it happened again, except this time he isn’t waking up!” The little boy sobbed loudly into the receiver. “I can’t wake him up, and he’s going to be late for work if he doesn’t get up.”

“Calm down, Brent, it’ll be okay. Where is he?” I could feel the blood drain from my face as panic began to set in. _shit_. Keltie gave me a concerned glance and I shook my head, not wanting to involve her with this. I tugged my shirt back on from where I’d discarded on the floor and sat down at the edge of the futon.

“He’s in the kitchen. Please wake him up, his leg is bent funny Ryan!” Brent cried harder. “He has to go to work or he’ll be sad all day!”

I couldn’t withhold the gasp that ripped its way out of my mouth, earning another worried look from Keltie. I ignored her. “Did you say his… leg is bent funny?”

“It’s bent weird, I don’t know!” 

I closed my eyes briefly and took a deep breath, trying to control the turmoil of emotions that swirled to the surface of my mind. “Okay Brent, calm down, I’ll be there in a minute. Don’t leave his side, okay?” I was already throwing on my shoes and jacket, halfway out the door before mouthing to Keltie that I had to leave. She started to ask a question then stopped, knowing better than bother me when I got like this. 

“I wont leave. Please just hurry.” Brent choked out. 

“I’ll be there soon. Hang in there buddy, okay? Your brother will be fine. We’ll take care of him.” I didn’t bother closing the door behind me before running down the narrow hallway towards the elevator. Figures Keltie had to live on the 15th floor of her dorm complex. 

I waited impatiently for the ancient elevator to arrive. I swallowed hard, guilt and worry marring my senses. I couldn’t help but blame myself. I should have answered my phone the first time he called, I would be getting to him faster. I should have called him right away after the incident in my car, I should have just fixed everything from the start. If I had, I might have been hanging out with him now, I might have been able to prevent it. I should have, but I didn’t. Isn’t that just the story of my goddamn life. 

Finally the elevator creaked open, and I practically lunged into the cramped space. I punched the button and cracked my knuckles anxiously as it lowered me to the parking garage. 

 **********

The drive to Brendon’s apartment was a blur of stoplights and rain. I made it there in record time, somehow avoiding a car accident, and threw myself up the stairs to his room. I didn’t bother knocking when I arrived at his apartment and threw the door open to reveal a very frightened Brent. 

I scooped him up into my arms and he immediately pointed towards the kitchen, tears and snot streaming down his face. He buried his face in my shoulder as we approached the kitchen, and I pet the back of his head gently, trying to calm myself just as much as him. 

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I rounded the corner. 

Lying facedown on the tile floor, encompassed in a pool of his own blood, was Brendon. His hair was darkened and matted to his scalp with blood that had yet to dry. Splatters of red stained the cupboard and floor beside him, a stark contrast to the white tile. A shattered glass formed a halo of spilled water and crystalline shards around outstretched arm. The water and blood swirled together on the floor like a grotesque finger painting, melting into a soft pink where they combined completely. Small cuts adorned his cheek and arms, undoubtedly from the glass. 

_And his leg. Oh god, his fucking leg._

Twisted nearly 180 degrees, his left leg jutted out at a painfully unnatural angle. He looked like a broken doll, snapped and discarded carelessly onto a dirty floor. I felt sick. 

I backed out of the kitchen quickly and carried Brent into the bedroom. Hands shaking, I set him down on the bed and said softly, “Okay, Brent, I’m going to help your brother. Can you do me a favor and stay in here for me? He wouldn’t want you to see him like that.” 

Brent sniffled loudly and nodded, wiping at his wet cheeks and lying down onto the bed. He covered his face with a pillow and cried loudly for his brother. My heart shattered into a million pieces as I closed the door and hurried back to where Brendon lay prone in the kitchen.

I choked back a sob of my own as I walked further into the kitchen, horror suffocating my emotions. I knelt next to his head, barely noticing as glass from the floor stabbed into my knees. I pulled his arm into my lap and tried to find a pulse, sighing roughly in relief when I found one. It was weak, but it was there. I pulled my phone out of my pocket when I finally realized I needed to call 911. I dialed the number and waited anxiously for a first responder to answer, my eyes never leaving Brendon. 

“911, what is your emergency?”

“I. Uh. My.” I stuttered. My mind was spinning too fast for me to be able to form coherent sentences. 

“Calm down, sir. Can you tell me what is going on?” The operator replied briskly. 

“My friend. He’s.” I took in a ragged breath before continuing. “He’s had a seizure, I think, I just got here. I think his leg is broken and he has a big gash on his head.”

“Is he epileptic?”

“Yes.”

I gave the operator Brendon’s apartment location and number, and she assured me that help would arrive shortly. I hung up and dropped my phone to the floor, splattering blood and water in the process, but I didn’t care. 

I gingerly brushed Brendon’s hair from his forehead, exposing a jagged gash that traveled deep into his hairline. I cupped his face with my hands and sobbed, finally releasing the emotions I had pent up inside me for so long. My tears fell from my cheeks onto Brendon’s, glisteningly softly in the bright room before tracking their way down his face. I felt terrified, anxious, and guilt-stricken all at once. I couldn’t understand why this was happening to him. To Brendon, to the most positive person I had ever met. He didn’t deserve this; he didn’t deserve anything he’d suffered in his miserable life. He deserved happiness, more so than me or anyone else. Brendon was everything good in humanity, everything warm. He saw the light in everyone, the potential for good. He saw it in me. 

“Oh, Brendon.” I whispered through my tears. I removed my shirt and used it to gently wipe the blood from his face that hadn’t quite had time to dry. His forehead was so bruised and swollen, he almost didn’t look like himself. His flesh was slowly purpling around the open wound, making his skin a grotesque caricature of horror. I pressed against his wound, hoping to staunch the flow of blood at least a little before the paramedics arrived and could take over for me. 

A small moan escaped Brendon’s bloodstained lips, and my heart skipped a beat. 

“Brendon?” I whispered again and brushed his hair completely out of his face. 

His eyelids fluttered briefly before opening, and I gasped softly. His eyes were glazed over, almost entranced, and he tried to look around before I took his head in my hands and gazed desperately into his eyes. “Brendon? Bren? Can you hear me?” He didn’t respond and continued to look through me, unseeing. I swallowed hard and grabbed his hand. I held on for dear life, crying my fucking eyes out. Brendon faded back into unconsciousness as quickly as he had awoken, and I was grateful for it. The pain he would endure upon awaking is not something I would wish upon my worst enemy. At least he is granted some relief when he’s out, even though it tears me apart to see him like that. 

I felt a tap on my shoulder and twisted around to see several medics and a stretcher. I hadn’t even heard them enter the apartment; it had to have been less than 15 minutes from the time that I called. I stood slowly and backed away to give them the room they needed to fix him.

I stood in a haze of my own, almost disbelieving the scene that was unfolding in front of me. I was shocked and agonized to see Brendon hurting. I don’t know why, but it affected me a lot more than it should have. Hell, we were barely friends. We had only hung out a handful of times, and yet I felt more in this moment than I had for anyone in my entire life. I cared for him more than anyone, and that realization terrified me. How could I feel so strongly for someone who was practically a stranger? His well-being was all that mattered to me when I walked into that kitchen and saw him lying there. He could have _died_ , for fuck’s sake. And for some reason, the thought of him dying clawed at me stronger than any fear I had ever experienced. I couldn’t bear to see him suffer. I just couldn’t. 

“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” I snapped out of my reverie to realize one of the paramedics had walked over to me and struck up a conversation. The others had finished loading Brendon onto the stretcher and were in the process of carrying him out and down to the ambulance. 

“Huh? Yeah, I’m okay.” I mumbled. 

“We’re taking him to Trohman Medical. He’s in pretty rough shape but they should be able to patch him back together.” She smiled warmly. _too warmly,_ I thought, _for someone covered with Brendon’s blood_.

I forced a smile and thanked her. “Can his little brother and I ride along?” 

She hesitated, looking me up and down before replying. “Usually we only allow next of kin to ride in the ambulance with patients, but sure. We can clean those cuts on your legs on the way.” 

I looked down at my legs, slightly shocked, to see my jeans had been torn and soaked with blood from the knee down. Oh. I forgot I knelt in all that glass. “Okay, sounds good.” I turned to retrieve Brent from the bedroom but hesitated. “You said he should be okay. Are you lying?” I asked almost rudely, scowling through my tears as I stared the paramedic in the eyes. “Tell me the truth. I can take it.” 

She laughed; a harsh, disturbing sound. “Of course he’s going to be okay. He lost a bit of blood but we’ll get him on a transfusion on the way there. Trust me, he’ll be fine.” She smiled and clapped a bloodstained hand on my bare shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about.”

I nodded curtly and let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding before walking to the bedroom. I knocked gently before opening the door and found Brent lying on the bed, passed out with tears and boogers marring his cute face. I couldn’t help but smile with relief. The poor kid deserved some rest. I passed the stained mirror beside the bed and caught a glimpse of my own reflection: a shirtless, bloody, teary-eyed mess. I rummaged through Brendon’s dresser until I found a shirt that wouldn’t look ridiculous on me and pulled it on before picking up Brent, taking care not to wake him, and carrying him out of the apartment.

The paramedic lady walked with us down to the entrance of the apartment building where quite a large crowd had formed. Goddamn nosy neighbors. I flipped them off angrily as we walked past and clambered into the back of the ambulance. They slammed the doors shut behind us as I gently laid Brent down on one of the benches before sitting myself. 

I found myself staring at Brendon the entire ride, memorizing every line of his face, every eyelash that fell against his cheeks. I watched his chest rise and fall with each labored breath he took. His fingers twitched ever-so-slightly against the hard plastic of the stretcher, as though playing an invisible piano. His mouth moved, forming words over and over but not speaking out loud—

My stomach dropped instantly as I realized. I leaned in closer, staring at his lips with wide eyes as they moved unconsciously.

Not words. A word. A name. 

“Ryan.”


	5. When I Say Shotgun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Brent wait for news.  
> Ryan has a plan.

_Ringing._

_The constant buzz filled my ears and muddled my brain._

_I was upside down, dangling in the air like an insect caught in a web, not smart enough to evade capture. I felt my hair brush the roof of the car as I looked around dazedly._

_I couldn’t see through the thick smoke surrounding me, crushing me. I frantically struggled with my seat belt. It held me fast to the worn fabric seat, unyielding against my attempts to remove it. I tore at it with my hands furiously as hot, sticky tears slithered up my face and into my hairline. I writhed and tugged on the belt, the skin on my hands raw and blistering._

_“Mom! Mom!” I screamed, or at least I thought I did. All I could hear was the ringing in my ears. “Mom? Dad?” I couldn’t see into the driver or passenger seats through the smoke that threatened to choke me._

_The car was getting hotter. I knew it was on fire. I knew I was going to die._

_Darkness, then light. The window beside me shattered in a halo of crystal flecks as an arm reached in. Mom._

_My mother tugged on my seat belt before taking a shard of glass from the window in her bare hand and sawing at it vigorously. She was saying something. I couldn’t hear her. Finally the seat belt gave way and she pulled me through the broken window. I didn’t even feel the glass pierce my skin. She carried me away from the burning car and placed me in the gravel on the side of the road, beside the skid marks that followed the car down into the ditch._

_She brushed my hair back and said something again. I stared, tears running down my face, as she ran back to the car where my dad was still trapped in the driver seat. She broke his window, reached inside, almost got the door open before it blew up._

_And all I heard was ringing._

 

The lights in the waiting room were brighter than I had remembered. Until now, I had forgotten what it felt like to be the one waiting. 

Brent was slumped over in the chair beside me, sleeping soundly with a teddy bear I had bought for him from the hospital gift shop. He had struggled to stay awake through the first few hours of our stay, but he eventually succumbed to his fatigue. His cheek was pressed hard against the stained wood of the armrest. He snored softly, the only sound in the room besides the rhythmic hum of the vending machines. He was a cute kid, I’d give him that. I had never been a fan of children, especially young ones, and Brent really was no exception. He was a well-behaved child, but I couldn’t help but think of what a burden he must be to his brother. His brother, who had no break from responsibility. I felt no compassion for Brent, only pity, and I hated myself for it. Where were his parents? Why in the hell weren’t they helping Brendon out? They just dumped him, illness and all, with a small child and expected him to make his own way? I couldn’t help the unabashed fury that washed over me. What a crock of shit. 

I stretched my legs out in front of me, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at the fresh stitches in my knees. A nurse had pulled Brent and I into an examination room after wheeling Brendon out of sight. She spent quite a while pulling shards of glass from my legs, all the while making small talk that I had no interest in entertaining. She eventually caught on that I wasn’t in the mood to talk and continued working in silence. I still hadn’t gotten my shirt back, and considering the rest of my outfit was covered in blood, she offered me a pair of scrubs to put on instead. 

I glanced at the clock that hung over the service phone, the phone we were to answer when it rang. It was nearly midnight. Brendon had been in surgery for over 3 hours, and I was getting more anxious by the minute. Quite frankly, I wasn’t expecting this to be as big of a deal as it was becoming. I thought he would just need a few stitches, a cast, and a hello kitty band-aid before being back to his disgustingly happy self. The thought of surgery had not even crossed my mind until one of the paramedics in the ambulance had called down to the hospital, asking for an operating room to be prepped upon his arrival. That was when I had truly begun to panic, asking anyone who would listen whether or not he would be okay. They all said yes. They all were lying. 

The first time the phone rang had been hours ago. It was one of his nurses. She spoke softly but quickly, sparing no time for me to ask any questions. A lot of her vocabulary went straight over my head as she talked about intracranial hemorrhages and displaced fractures. I hadn’t said much that first call, save for asking whether or not he would recover. She assured me he would, after he underwent immediate surgery to set his leg and relieve the pressure in his skull. She promised to call again as soon as he was out of surgery, but that was the last time I had heard from her, or anyone. 

So here I sat. Waiting and in pain, not even at liberty to be bored. Keltie had tried to call me several times, undoubtedly wondering where I had run off to. I ignored her each time. I didn’t have the patience or energy to try and explain the situation to anyone, especially her. I knew if I answered her calls she would do what she does best: try to fix it. But this was not something she could fix and it was not something I wanted her to even be involved in; selfish as it was, I wanted to suffer alone. 

My last meeting with Brendon ran through my head on cruel repeat. I was so rude to him without explanation or warning, and I had no idea whether or not he resented me for it. _What if he doesn’t want me here when he wakes up?_ I thought to myself. _What if he hates me?_ I couldn’t figure out why he mattered so much to me. I barely knew him, and yet here I was. I wondered if it was pity that fueled my interest in the boy, or a fixed attraction to his melancholy situation. He just made no sense, and his unwavering positivity baffled me. _How could someone be so happy about such a shitty life? Doesn’t he want more than this? He certainly deserves better._ I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall behind me. I certainly had a talent for pushing people away from me before they even had the chance to get close. Normally my self-isolation didn’t bother me, but the thought of Brendon not wanting anything to do with me was torturous. 

Waiting for the nurses to call was almost worse. The constant anxiety of not knowing what was happening to him was crushing and unpleasant, but perhaps no news was good news. I looked around the waiting room for the first time in hours, finally searching for ways to occupy my mind. The room was empty save for us, and there was no one sitting at the small reception desk in the corner. I stood woodenly and walked over before rummaging through the drawers. I pulled out a small pad of paper and pen before making my way back to sit beside Brent. Maybe all this waiting would finally help me come up with something worth writing. 

I sat staring fruitlessly at the notepad. Unsurprisingly, my writer’s block was still unaffected by tragedy. My ideas were still clogged, and to my chagrin I couldn’t bring myself to dream up even one line. I sighed with familiar frustration and tossed the notepad into the empty chair beside me. I knew it was a lost cause every time I picked up a pen and paper. I just couldn’t write anymore. Jon and Spence would never blame me, of course, for being in a slump. But I could tell that they were getting sick of playing the same few songs over and over. I hadn’t written lyrics worth a shit in months. They were starving for new material, and I was starving to provide it for them, but writing is hard and inspiration is harder. I haven’t had anything worth writing about in a long time. I used to try and fake it, but I soon realized that you have to truly believe in what you’re writing. Sucks for me, of course, because I don’t believe in anything.

I checked my cellphone for the first time in over an hour. To my annoyance, I had another missed call from Keltie as well as several texts all asking where I was. I shot her a curt reply, not delving into the details of the situation, and left it at that. She would get the point that I didn’t want her around right now. It’s not exactly an easy situation to explain to my girlfriend, especially considering I had never so much as mentioned Brendon to her before. 

Jon had apparently tried to call me as well, and had left several messages in our group chat that we share with Spencer. One was from hours ago and the other from within the past 20 minutes.

9:17 P.M: _Hey have you guys tried the Blue Dragon strain yet? I swear I can taste colors right now lmao ry you gotta try this_

11:54 P.M: _Ry are you alright? Keltie just called me all upset asking if you were with me. Trouble in paradise?_

I couldn’t help but smile. Jon always cheered me up simply by existing, and his disturbing love for drugs certainly didn’t hurt. I replied quickly, _Yeah I’m fine, sitting in a waiting room right now, I’ll fill you and Spence in later._ Explaining this to Jon and Spencer would certainly be easier than explaining it to Keltie, as she tended to ask a million questions whereas they just listen and empathize. 

His reply was almost instant. _Waiting room? For what? You finally getting a vasectomy?_

Spencer popped online as well. Why they were still awake, I had no idea. _Jesus, ry, at midnight? Weird timing, eh?_

I frowned and typed out a reply. _Fuck off, no vasectomies. Here for a friend. I said I’ll explain later._

_Sorry bud, just trying to lighten the mood. Hope all is well._ Jon responded quickly. I exited the chat and shoved my phone back into the pocket of my borrowed scrubs, scowling. I felt it vibrate a few more times, signaling they sent more messages, but didn’t check them. 

I closed my eyes. The fluorescent lights in the room were beginning to give me a headache. Exhaustion swept over my body like a wave as I leaned back in the stiff wooden chair. My leg began to ache from wearing my prosthetic for so long, but I didn’t dare remove it in case the phone across the room began to ring. I had always hated waiting, but this was the worst. 

A loud sniffle made me jump in surprise. Brent had woken up and was shifting his small body into a sitting position. He looked up at me and hugged his new teddy bear to his chest. 

“Do they still have Brendon?” He asked, his voice so soft I could barely hear him. 

“Yes, they do.” I replied, unsure of what to say. “But you know what? They’re going to fix him right up so he’ll be as good as new! It might take them a little bit longer but I promise you’ll be able to see him soon.” 

“I want to see him _now_.” I could tell he was on the verge of a meltdown from how his voice pitched loudly. “I want to see my brother _now_.” 

I got out of my chair and awkwardly lowered myself to my knees in front of Brent so I could talk to him at eye level. “I know you want to see him, buddy, but we have to wait a little longer, okay?” I took one of his small snot-covered fists in my own and squeezed. “We have to give them time to make him feel better. You want him to feel better, don’t you?” 

Brent paused thoughtfully. “Yeah. I want him to feel good.” 

I forced a small smile. “Me too. I know it sucks, but we have to keep waiting so then we can be here for him when he wakes up.” 

Brent sighed explosively and looked around the room, unimpressed. “So what are we supposed to do?”

I laughed. “Well, you can watch the T.V.” I scanned the room myself, looking for things a child might be interested in. “I’m pretty sure there’s some board games in that cabinet up there.” 

“What kind of board games?” 

“I don’t know, why don’t you go look?” 

Brent clambered out of his chair, teddy bear in hand, and pulled the cabinet door open. As I suspected it was filled with all manner of board games, from Candy Land to Twister. 

“Which one?” Brent asked, staring up at the tower of games before him. 

“You pick one.” 

He stood at the cabinet for several minutes, scanning the titles, before saying “I don’t know how to play any of these.” 

I was taken aback. “None of them?”

“Nope.” 

I walked over to the cabinet to stand behind him. “You’re telling me you’ve never played Chutes and Ladders before?” 

“Nope.” He chirped. “Why, is it fun?” 

“Is it—“ I stuttered. “Is it fun?! Of course it’s fun!” I pulled it off the shelf. “I’ll show you how to play it.” 

“Okay!” Brent replied happily. He followed me back to the center of the waiting room where I sat cross-legged on the floor, bending my prosthetic into place with my free hand. 

I opened the box and set up all the pieces before explaining how to Brent how the game worked. Thankfully for me, he was a fast learner and understood the rules the first time I explained them to him. We played through a few times, Brent winning each round, before putting the game back and pulling out a different one to play. We did this with several more games, and I grew more and more relaxed with each passing minute. Brent was such a happy kid, it was hard for him to not rub off on you. Looking at him, you wouldn’t expect that he lived through the sort of struggles that he did. He was just like his brother: positive through everything. 

“Maybe we’ll play every game in this cabinet before Brendon is ready to see us!” Brent exclaimed excitedly as he returned Operation to the pile of games. He examined the contents of the cabinet before pulling out Mouse Trap and placing it on the floor in front of us. 

My heart dropped slightly. I had forgotten for a moment why we were here in the first place. “If we don’t, I’ll buy you every game we don’t get to. That way, we can play them with Brendon later.” 

Brent beamed. “I bet he would love that. He really likes hanging out with you. He said so.” 

My heart fluttered. “I really like hanging out with him too.” I bent down and occupied myself with setting up the game so Brent wouldn’t see the blush that threatened to cross my cheeks. 

Brent grabbed his socked feet and rocked back and forth on the carpet, grinning at me. “Do you liiiiiiiiike him?” 

I rolled my eyes and laughed awkwardly. “No, Brent. He’s a good friend, that’s all.” 

“Mmm-hmm.” Brent’s eyes were filled with amusement. Damn this kid. Why did he have to be so damn smart for his age? Obviously I didn’t like his brother, not that way. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Hell, I barely even knew him. I brushed my long bangs out of my eyes and sighed explosively. 

I was spared an answer when the phone rang. Both Brent and I shot up off the floor, and I practically ran to the desk. “Hello?” I breathed urgently into the mouthpiece. 

“Is this Mr. Urie’s family?” The soft voice asked. 

“Yes, this is us.”

“Hi, sorry for the long wait. His surgery went longer than expected. Brendon’s doctor will be coming down to the family waiting area in a few minutes to discuss his condition with you, is that alright?” 

My voice was shaking. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

“Okay, he should be there shortly. Have a good rest of your night.” The dial tone rang and I returned the phone to its dock before turning to Brent who stood anxiously beside me. 

“Was that Brendon? What did he say? Can we come see him now? Is he okay? What is he doing? Is he-“

“That was one of his nurses, Brent.” I interrupted gently. “His doctor is going to be coming here in a moment to tell us how Brendon is doing. Can you sit nice and be polite to the doctor when he comes? Brendon would want you to be a good boy.”

Brent looked up at me before returning to his chair alongside the back wall. I joined him and sat down, cracking my knuckles anxiously. I kept my eyes on the door in anticipation of the doctor’s arrival. 

After what felt like forever, a middle aged man in light blue scrubs and a long white lab coat walked in, clipboard in hand. I immediately stood and made to walk over by him before he waved for me to be seated. 

“You’re here for Mr. Urie?” His voice was deep and soothing.

“Yes.” I replied nervously. “How is he?”

The doctor looked at his clipboard for a moment before replying. “Actually, can we speak in the hall alone?” He looked pointedly at Brent, then back at me. 

“Uh. Sure, I guess.” I rose to follow him into the hallway. 

Brent stood up, immediately understanding. “He’s _my_ brother! I want to go too!” 

I paused and knelt to look Brent in the eyes. “He’s just going to tell me about the boring paperwork stuff, okay? When we go see Brendon, we’ll do it together. I promise. Okay?”

He looked down and sniffled. “Okay. But you gotta promise.” 

“I promise.” I patted him awkwardly on the head before following Brendon’s doctor out into the hallway and out of earshot. “So how is he doing? What happened to him?”

The doctor smiled genuinely. “He’s doing well. Due to the swelling from his head injury, we had to drill a few very small holes in his skull to allow pressure buildup to be released.” At my expression of terror he added, “It’s a quite common and routine procedure that we do, it’s nothing to be alarmed about. The holes are small and relatively unnoticeable under his bushy hair” 

I laughed, slightly relieved, and the doctor continued. 

He scanned his clipboard. “He also had a quite severe break in his upper tibia. We screwed some plates in there to make sure it heals properly, but that will take months and he will likely need some form of physical therapy afterwards.” 

“I go to physical therapy every week,” I blurted out, shaking my prosthetic leg slightly. “He can always just come with me.” 

“Sure, we can absolutely work something like that out in the future.” He smiled. “Brendon is stable now and has been moved to a private room in the ICU. He will likely stay there for a few more days while we monitor the swelling in his skull, and if it goes down enough we will move him into a room on our primary care floors. He was, thankfully, strong enough to breathe on his own so he is not currently on a ventilator. We are monitoring his breathing very closely, however, so if his breathing weakens we are prepared to intubate him. Other than that, his vitals are looking really good and he’s very fit, so I see no reason why he wouldn’t make a full recovery.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “I can’t believe this kind of shit can happen from just a seizure.” 

“Yes, well, it appears that Brendon has quite an extensive history of violent episodes.” He replied. “There are treatment options, of course, but his records state that Brendon has been… apprehensive… about pursuing these options. The expense can be quite egregious, I’m afraid.” 

I paused. “Wait. What if someone else were to pay for his medications? Would he be able to find out?” 

“Yes, if we were to send the bills directly to his residence, I’m afraid that there’s nothing we can do to mask anonymous payments.” He looked at me questioningly. 

I frowned. An idea sparked in my mind, and I replied excitedly, “But can you send the bills to a different residence? Would he ever know? Could someone- theoretically- pay for this medication and he would just think his insurance covered it?” 

“I- I’m not sure that-“ He stammered before clearing his throat and regaining his bedside manner. “Yes, I’m sure we could work something out. The prescription information would have to be sent to his residence, as he is the one being prescribed, but the bills can be sent separately. You can talk to the woman working reception currently about changing the billing address. Since he is already prescribed the medication, you can do that now if you’d like.” 

I grinned widely. Brendon might not like it, but it’s not like he’s ever going to find out, right? It’s a win/win. “Sure, I’ll do that right after we go see Brendon. What room is he in?”

“I’m afraid you can’t see him right now. He just underwent extensive surgery. He needs his rest. You can see him first thing in the morning.” He smiled apologetically. 

I sighed with disappointment before thanking the doctor for his time. I walked back into the waiting room where Brent sat in the corner moping. He perked up immediately when I entered, no doubt anxious to see his brother. I quickly explained to him that his brother was okay but we had to wait until morning to see him because he needed his sleep. Brent grudgingly agreed, and I pulled a stack of sheets out of one of the cabinets to make a makeshift bed for him on the floor of the waiting room. He nestled up in the pile and quickly fell asleep, holding his stuffed bear tight to his chest. 

As quietly as I could, I left the waiting room and closed the door behind me. I hated leaving Brent in there alone, but trusted that nobody would bother him for the short amount of time I intended to be gone. I briskly walked down the hall to the front desk where I spoke softly with the receptionist, a kind woman with greying hair. She guaranteed that switching the billing plans would be no problem, and I happily gave her my address. Brendon had only been paying for 1/8 of his yearly allotment of medication, so I told her to up it to the full medication plan. She assured me that there would be no way for Brendon to find out his medication was being paid for; he would just assume his insurance had taken over the full payment plan. I thanked her profusely before walking back down the halls towards the ICU. 

I walked past the family waiting room where Brent lay sleeping and down the halls towards the patients’ quarters. Visitors were not allowed regardless after 9 P.M., but wearing scrubs seemed to come in handy after all. None of the nurses gave me a second glance as I walked down the hall, scanning the windows of each room, searching for that one familiar face who I yearned to see so badly. 

My heart skipped a beat when I finally saw him. Room 177, the furthest from the nurse’s station. Perfect. I opened the door as quietly as I could, checking the hallway behind me before closing the door and turning to face Brendon. I knew I couldn’t stay long, that I had to get back to Brent, but I just had to see him, at least for a moment. 

Tears marred my cheeks as I crossed the room to his bedside. I sat in the chair beside him, clutching his hand in mine. He looked so small, so fragile, as he slept. His head was wrapped loosely with bandages that seemed to encompass his entire skull. His large forehead was completely invisible beneath the gossamer material, certainly an impressive feat. Various cuts on his arms and cheeks had been cleaned and bandaged, leaving him a patchwork of skin and gauze. He still looked vibrant as ever, his face filled with warmth and life, his eyelashes softly fluttering against his cheeks as he dreamed. My gaze drifted down his body to his leg, which was slightly elevated and wrapped in a hefty plaster cast. _basic white_ , I thought to myself. _Knowing Brendon, when he wakes up he’ll ask for it to be wrapped in all sorts of colors_. I traced my thumb over the back of his hand, steering clear of the I.V. that pierced through the center. Tears dripped from my face onto his fingertips as I cried silently. 

Seeing him like this was overwhelming. I desperately, selfishly wished for him to wake up, to tell me that everything was going to be okay, that he was okay. But his sleep was deep and peaceful, and I could not ask to tamper with that when I knew all he would awaken to would be pain. I found solace in knowing that this would never have to happen again; now that I would be funding his medications, he would never have to endure this pain. Brent would never have to endure the pain of seeing his big brother, his provider, like this. I thought of how angry Brendon would be if he found out and stifled a chuckle. He was too proud for his own good sometimes, but this way he will never have to know I’m helping him out. In this case, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, but it may damn well save him. 

I wiped my tears away with my free hand and stared at Brendon, desperately trying to memorize every detail. His proud jaw, his sharp brows, his full lips. I watched the rise and fall of his chest as though it were a metronome, its rhythm hypnotizing and alluring. He really was beautiful. Not beautiful like Keltie, no, a different kind of beautiful. A kind foreign and terrifying and strange, and a kind that I had no idea how to deal with. I knew how to deal with beautiful women, but beautiful men? That was a whole different story, and a story I didn’t know the end to. 

I had stayed too long. I had to get back before anyone noticed I didn’t belong here. I glanced at Brendon’s face one last time, absorbing every detail, before lowering my lips to his hand and kissing it gently. I rose as quietly as possible, looked back at Brendon once more, and exited the room. I walked down the hall to the waiting room as quickly as possible, my head down so nobody could see the tears streaming down my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry this chapter took so long to get up! Updates will be more frequent from now on.  
> Not a lot of ryan/brendon contact in this chapter, i know, sorry! Next time :)  
> ((yes the first part in italics is a flashback))  
> my tumblr is teenhearts :):)


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